able to perpetuate the various
breeds, but it was found that these birds acted as a kind of police,
never failing either to chase away or to kill any others of their
species who infringed upon what they appeared to regard as their own
special privilege in intruding within the limits of their domain.

On the 15th loud cries were suddenly heard issuing from the mouth of the
principal gallery.

"Help, help! I shall be killed!"

Pablo in a moment recognized the voice as Nina's. Outrunning even Ben
Zoof he hurried to the assistance of his little playmate, and discovered
that she was being attacked by half a dozen great sea-gulls, and only
after receiving some severe blows from their beaks could he succeed by
means of a stout cudgel in driving them away.

"Tell me, Nina, what is this?" he asked as soon as the tumult had
subsided.

The child pointed to a bird which she was caressing tenderly in her
bosom.

"A pigeon!" exclaimed Ben Zoof, who had reached the scene of commotion,
adding:

"A carrier-pigeon! And by all the saints of Montmartre, there is a
little bag attached to its neck!"

He took the bird, and rushing into the hall placed it in Servadac's
hands.

"Another message, no doubt," cried the captain, "from our unknown
friend. Let us hope that this time he has given us his name and
address."

All crowded round, eager to hear the news. In the struggle with the
gulls the bag had been partially torn open, but still contained the
following dispatch:

"Gallia!

Chemin parcouru du 1er Mars au 1er Avril: 39,000,000 l.!

Distance du soleil: 110,000,000 l.!

Capte Nerina en passant.

Vivres vont manquer et..."

The rest of the document had been so damaged by the beaks of the gulls
that it was illegible. Servadac was wild with vexation. He felt more and
more convinced that the writer was a Frenchman, and that the last
line indicated that he was in distress from scarcity of food. The
very thought of a fellow-countryman in peril of starvation drove him
well-nigh to distraction, and it was in vain that search was made
everywhere near the scene of conflict in hopes of finding the missing
scrap that might bear a signature or address.

Suddenly little Nina, who had again taken possession of the pigeon, and
was hugging it to her breast, said:

"Look here, Ben Zoof!"

And as she spoke she pointed to the left wing of the bird. The wing bore
the faint impress of a postage-stamp, and the one word: "FORMENTERA."